Welcome Back
by dawn341
Summary: Ahriman has been defeated but is it possible that Richie might not be dead? My solution to season 5 idiocy.


Welcome Back by Dawn Cunningham

I wrote this story a long time ago. Since the Highlander fanfic archive has disappeared, I'm starting to post my stories on other sites.

Disclaimers:

Just about every character in this story belongs to Rysher. I'm just borrowing them and not getting paid for it.

Do not post or publish this story anywhere else, without my express permission. Feel free to share it with others as long as the disclaimers remain intact.

* HL * HL * HL * HL * HL * HL

Welcome Back by Dawn Cunningham

Free.

Free at last.

For the first time in who knew how long, he breathed in fresh air. Not the stale, moldy air, laced with rotting smells that had been his world for what seemed like forever. He looked up at the sky, truly appreciating the stars and the moon for the first time in his life. He had thought he would never see them again.

A cool, damp breeze reminded him of his situation. His clothes were ill-fitting rags that barely kept him decent, and smelled of blood, sweat, vomit, and his own excrement. His shoes had been discarded long ago, victims to mold and mildew. His body trembled from lack of nourishment, and he knew that unless he got some food soon, he would die from starvation.

Again.

He'd lost track of how many times the gnawing pain in his stomach had led to coma and then death. He always revived and the cycle would start all over again. He was Immortal and had just been through a living nightmare - one that not even his overactive imagination could have dreamed up.

He forced his shaky limbs to carry his body down the street. The area looked deserted and he had serious doubts that he would find anything edible nearby. But he had to look - his survival depended on it. With each step, he could feel what little strength he had left drain away. When he spotted headlights coming toward him, he didn't have the energy to flag down the vehicle. Instead, he felt the growing darkness overtake him and he collapsed to the pavement.

* HL * HL * HL * HL

'In late-breaking news, police discovered the body of a young man in a deserted section of Paris earlier tonight. The apparent cause of death was starvation.'

Joe Dawson finished wiping down the bar as he listened to the late news on the radio. It wasn't quite like being back at his place in the States, but Maurice's was better than nothing. All activities stopped when he heard a name that he had thought he would never hear again.

'What has officials baffled is that the man has been identified as Richard 'Richie' Ryan who supposedly died in a spectacular motorcycle accident witnessed by a grandstand full of spectators over three years ago. The investigation continues. And now on to the weather...'

Joe shut the radio off with trembling fingers. It just wasn't possible. Richie Ryan was dead - his head chopped off by Duncan MacLeod more than a year ago. Grabbing his cane, he headed for his car, determined to get to the bottom of this before the Highlander found out about it. It had to be some kind of sick, perverted joke aimed at the Immortal.

Driving to the morgue, Joe opened his cellular phone and placed a call.

"'Lo," came the sleepy answer.

"Methos, this is Joe. I need your help."

Sounds of movement came across the line. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" Methos grumbled.

"I know exactly what time it is," Joe replied. "I need you to meet me at the morgue. It's important."

"Fine. I'll be there in 15 minutes, but it had *better* be important."

* HL * HL * HL

Joe reached the morgue before Methos. Putting on his smoothest smile, he set out to charm the obviously bored clerk who had been reading a magazine when he walked in. It didn't take long to get some information. Right height, hair color, eye color and the police ID had been from fingerprints. Minutes later, he was being shown to the drawer that had a hand-written label of Ryan, R. The clerk pulled open the door and slid out the drawer table. It was empty.

"I... I don't know what to say," the clerk stammered. "I saw them put the body in here less than three hours ago."

"Hmmm. This could be embarrassing. If I were you, I wouldn't report this. Let someone else 'discover' the missing body in the morning. I won't say a word to anyone. Trust me." Joe smiled again before heading for the exit. The clerk remained behind, opening one drawer after another, trying to find the body.

That had answered at least one question. Whoever the body belonged to had to be Immortal. Reaching his car, he saw headlights turning into the parking lot. Hopefully, that would be Methos.

The oldest living Immortal climbed out of his car and walked over to Joe. He stopped midway and drew his sword. "Get in your car, Joe, and let's get out of here. There's another Immortal nearby."

"I hope so. I want to find him. If what I heard was true, we need to find this guy."

"All right, Joe. If you insist." Methos led the way, motioning for Joe to stay back. He headed for a nearby alley, slowly advancing into it. They were almost to the end when they spotted the man huddled up against the wall. He had a sheet wrapped around him, but didn't appear to have anything else on.

"Please, I don't have a sword," he said faintly.

"Stand up," Methos ordered.

"I... I don't think I can," the man replied before pitching forward to the pavement.

Methos crept closer, nudged the body with his foot before kneeling down beside it. He cautiously placed his fingers on the man's neck. "He's dead," he informed Joe. Rolling the body over, he tried to make out features, but it was too dark in the alley.

"Bring him out to my car," Joe said. "We can take him back to my place."

"Joe, you don't even know who this is. When he revives, he could kill you."

"That's why I called you. Now, bring him."

Methos grumbled. "Why didn't you call MacLeod? He's the boy scout." Reaching down, he hoisted the body up and over a shoulder before carrying the body out to Joe's car. "Open the trunk. We'll put him in there. That way if he revives too soon, he won't be able to do anything about it."

Joe almost protested, but he could see the validity of Methos' argument. If his assumption was wrong, he could be in serious danger. When the body had been placed in the trunk, the Watcher tried to get a better view of the man's face, but there still wasn't enough light. Too late, he realized that he could have used the headlights on the car, but Methos had already returned to his own vehicle and somehow the Watcher had his doubts that the Immortal would be willing to move the body again. He climbed behind the wheel of his car and, with Methos following, drove to his place.

* HL * HL

Following Joe's direction, Methos carried the body to the guest bedroom in the Watcher's house. "Are you sure about this, Joe?" he asked as he placed the still-dead Immortal on the bed. "Do you know who this is?"

"Well, I'm not positive, but the police think he's Richie Ryan."

Methos looked at the Watcher as if he'd lost his mind. "Joe, in case you forgot, Ryan lost his head over a year ago. Last time I heard, that meant we didn't come back."

"I know. I know. That's why I have to get to the bottom of this. What if it's true?" Joe replied as he lowered himself to the bed to examine the body. He turned the face back and forth, but couldn't come up with a positive ID.

"Have you told MacLeod?"

"No, not yet. I wanted more info first. What do you think?"

They both studied the face. Beneath the filthy hair, grime-stained skin, and long straggly beard, the cheekbones stood out and the eye sockets were deeply sunken. The whole body was emaciated, a stark caricature of a human being.

"I don't know, Joe. It's really hard to tell. He never wore his hair that long, and it's so filthy, it's hard to tell what color it really is. And as for the beard..." Methos shook his head. "Did he have any other distinguishing marks?"

Joe pondered the question for a moment, trying to recall the young man's features. "Yes. He had a small mole on his right cheek." He turned the face towards the light. "There it is. It has to be Richie."

"But..."

A sudden, loud gasp came from the bed. Startling blue eyes peered up at the two men. "Joe?" the man asked, looking around in confusion. "Where am I?"

"Richie? Is that really you?" Joe asked, still unable to believe his eyes or his ears. He'd recognize that voice anywhere.

"Yeah. Um... could I get some water... or some food?"

"Actually, broth would probably be the best thing for you," Methos suggested. "When was the last time that you ate?"

"I don't know. A real long time."

"I've got some chicken soup in the kitchen. I can strain it for the broth. I'll be right back." Joe left the room.

Richie stared at the man he had known only as Adam Pierson. "Are you really Methos?" he finally asked.

Methos looked startled. "What? I don't understand. Joe and MacLeod explained to you who I was more than 18 months ago. Why are you asking me again?"

"Wasn't me, man. That was *him*. Kronos got really excited when Mike came back and reported that he'd found the real Methos."

"Kronos?" Methos almost shouted. "What did you have to do with Kronos?"

"He... " Richie paused and tried to gather strength. Even talking seemed to take too much effort. "He captured me. Right after Mac went crazy."

Methos shook his head. "Must have been someone else. Kronos was dead by then. MacLeod killed him about a month before you showed up in Paris. Of course, maybe Ahriman was causing you to see dead people, too."

"Who's Ahriman? And I haven't been to Paris since I died in that motorcycle crash - well until Kronos brought me here."

"Wait a minute, Richie," Joe said as he entered the room carrying a cup of broth. He set it down on the nightstand before pulling the young Immortal to a sitting position. The Watcher placed several pillows behind Richie's back and eased him down. He then handed the mug to the young Immortal. "What about your little escapade with Marina?"

"Who?" The young man inhaled the fragrant smell of the chicken broth. He could feel the heat emanating from the cup and curled his fingers around it. Raising it to his lips, he took a brief sip, savoring the taste in his mouth before swallowing.

"Give it a minute, Ryan," Methos suggested. "It may not stay down."

Richie nodded before closing his eyes. He could already feel his stomach churning and struggled to maintain control. He felt the bed tilt slightly, and opened his eyes to find Joe sitting on the bed next to him. "That might not be a very good place to sit, Joe," he warned him. "I'm not sure that I can keep this down." He swallowed heavily.

"Take deep breaths," Methos coached. "You can do this."

A few moments later, Richie felt better and took another sip, having to repeat the process as his stomach protested again. It took a while, but he finally managed to drink half the cup before handing it back to Joe. "I don't think I can drink any more."

"Give it some time, Richie," Joe said. "You can try again in a while. Do you feel up to some explanations?"

"Sure, Joe. I'm feeling better already. But... what about Mac? Is he...?"

"MacLeod is fine. I haven't told him you're alive... I wanted to make sure it was true before I raised his hopes. We all thought you were dead."

"And he's really over the Dark Quickening?" The young Immortal asked tentatively.

"Surely you know that, Richie? You spent enough time with him after he came back to Seacouver."

"No, I didn't, Joe. That wasn't me. That was Mike. I can't believe you let him take over my life. How could you, Joe? How could Mac? He should have known better. He should have..." Richie couldn't continue, unable to handle the conflicting emotions washing through him - disbelief, hurt, anger.

"I don't understand." Joe shook his head, handing the young man the cup of broth when he saw him try to reach for it. "Who's Mike? And what do you mean 'he took over your life'?"

Richie took a couple of sips. This time his stomach behaved. He could already feel the difference from having some nourishment inside him. "The last time I saw Mac was the night he tried to take my head at the dojo. Kronos was waiting at my place. At first I thought it was Mac coming to try again, but it wasn't. He killed me with a knife and, when I revived, I was chained up in some kind of warehouse. Tonight was the first time I've been free since then. Mike was practically my twin and he took over my life. I don't know how else to explain it."

"Describe Kronos for me," Methos ordered.

"He was a sadistic bastard who liked to hurt people. Oh, and he had an ugly scar that ran down his cheek."

"Well, that definitely sounds like you knew him. So, what you're claiming is that this Mike person impersonated you?" Methos asked.

"Yeah. And I can't believe you didn't see him as an impostor." Richie finished off the broth. "Joe, could I have some more, please."

"Sure, Richie. I'll be right back." Joe took the empty mug and left the room.

The young Immortal turned to the older one. "How long does it take to recover from starvation?" he asked.

"That depends. If what you are claiming is true..." Methos held up his hand as Richie started to protest. "I'm not saying it's not, then you've been alone for over a year - starving over and over." The young Immortal nodded his head. "You've lost most of your body weight. You'll have to rebuild - including muscles. That's going to take some time - although it will happen much faster than normal because of your Immortal healing - and a lot of hard work. Your mind will remember the moves, but you'll need to retrain your body to do them. It won't be easy."

Richie thought about the answer. "I guess that makes sense. But after what I just went through, it will seem like a piece of cake." He thought about what Methos had said and decided he needed clarification. "So Mike lost his head over a year ago?" Methos nodded. "If Mac thought it was me, I bet that tore him up pretty bad - didn't it?" He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

"You could say that," Methos replied, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Did he avenge my death?" Richie kept probing.

"In a manner of speaking - yes."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you should try to get some rest. You look like you could use some."

"I agree," Joe said as he came back. He handed Richie the mug of broth. "Drink this and then try to get some rest."

The young Immortal obediently started sipping the broth. "Can I clean up first?" he asked, plaintively.

"Can you stand up?" Methos asked.

Richie gamely gathered the sheet around him, sat up, and swung his legs off the side of the bed. He managed to get to his feet only to start wavering immediately. He sank back down on the bed. "Damn!"

Joe looked over at Methos. "If you help him into the tub, he could take a bath."

"No. Absolutely not. I'm not a nursemaid. Get the boy scout over here to help out."

Richie turned pleading eyes on the other Immortal, trying to recall his best puppy dog expression that had always gotten to Mac and Tessa. When that didn't seem to work, he turned them on Joe.

Ten minutes later, Methos slowly lowered Richie into the tub. "I can't believe I'm doing this. You owe me big time, Ryan. I can't believe Joe would sink so low as to threaten me with revealing my real name to the Watchers."

Richie sighed as he sank into the warm water. "Whatever you want, man. Whatever you want."

Methos left the bathroom, returning shortly with another mug of soup and a large glass of water. "You need to drink as many liquids as you can. It will help get your system going again."

Richie nodded and started drinking. It didn't take long before he felt full. "I can't drink any more right now," he said with a grimace.

"I told you it would take some time. Your stomach will have to expand so you can eat and drink more. Here's some shampoo, scissors, a razor, and shaving cream." Methos set the items down on the edge of the tub. "I'll hold the mirror while you shave. By the way, you should start by using the scissors to trim the beard first - in case you don't know."

The young Immortal reached for the scissors and started hacking away at his beard. It didn't take long before his arms started to shake and he had to lower them. "Guess I'll just have to keep the beard for awhile."

Methos sighed. "All right, Ryan. Let me help you. But so help me, if word of this gets out to MacLeod or Dawson, your head is mine. The only reason I'm doing this is that I don't want MacLeod to see you for the first time looking like something the cat drug in."

Methos knelt down by the tub, took the scissors and started trimming Richie's beard. He then expertly lathered the young man's face and applied the razor to the remaining stubble. Next, he grabbed the shampoo and started working it into Richie's hair, utilizing the hand-held shower wand to rinse before he shampooed again. His final step was to trim Richie's hair before holding the mirror back up for inspection. "Does that meet with your approval?" Methos asked.

"That's great, Methos. I really appreciate this. You act like you've done this before."

"Different life." Methos shrugged. "Can you wash yourself because I'm definitely not going to do that."

"I think so. Just let me soak for a while longer."

"Fine. Drink some more water. Joe should be back soon with MacLeod."

* HL * HL * HL

Joe quickly drove over to MacLeod's barge, hoping that the Highlander would be home. He hadn't put another Watcher on the Immortal since the whole affair with Ahriman had started - MacLeod seemed to have settled in for a while, so there didn't seem to be much point in it.

Going up the gangplank was always an awkward maneuver with his prostheses, but he was rewarded when he found the Immortal home. It was fairly obvious that he'd still been in bed - after all, the sun had just risen. "Mac, we need to talk," Joe jumped right into the reason for his being there.

"Sure, Joe. C'mon in."

"There's no easy way to say this, Mac, and I'm not going to beat around the bush. Richie is alive." After dropping his bombshell, Joe waited for the explosion. It didn't take long.

"Richie's dead! I know because I took his head. What kind of sick joke are you trying to play, Joe? Or is Ahriman back? Making dead people come back to life?"

"From what little Richie has told us so far, he's been imprisoned since you tried to take his head because of the Dark Quickening. It was a double that we've been seeing and talking to since then."

"C'mon, Joe. Don't you think I would have noticed if it hadn't been the real Richie?"

"Think about it, MacLeod. Think about how different he was - his anger towards you - hell, towards anyone. The way he started taking heads. Was that like the Richie you knew?"

"Well... no."

"The police identified him by fingerprints. He has to be Richie. Just come and see him. He told us some already, but let him finish telling us what happened before you make up your mind."

"Us?"

"I've already brought Methos in. I needed help and I didn't want you to know until I was sure."

Another knock came at the door. "I seem to be awfully popular for this early in the morning," MacLeod quipped as he answered it. A moment later he came back downstairs followed by a man in a dark blue suit. "Joe, this is Inspector Plechier. Inspector, Joe Dawson." The Immortal performed the introductions.

"Monsieur MacLeod, I would like a moment of your time - in private - if you don't mind."

"I have no secrets that Joe can't hear. He knows more about me than anyone else." MacLeod sent a teasing glance at his Watcher.

"Very well, Monsieur. I'm here to ask you some questions about Richie Ryan. I understand that you were very close to him?"

"That's true."

"Are you aware that his body was found last night? Lying dead on the street, apparently from starvation?"

"I heard it on the news and came over to tell him," Joe spoke up just in case the morgue clerk had already given the police his description.

"I see. Can you explain how he came to be there, Monsieur MacLeod? He allegedly died in a motorcycle crash more than three years ago."

"I suppose I can tell you, now," Duncan admitted.

Joe gaped at the Immortal, unable to believe that MacLeod was going to spill the beans.

"Richie was hired by a law enforcement agency - I don't know which one - to infiltrate a major drug cartel. Because of his youth and his prior criminal record, they felt he would be the perfect person for the job. Unfortunately, the cartel found out about him and put out a contract on his life. He was supposed to be the one in the race that day, but the agency felt it would be too dangerous, so they substituted one of their men to ride in his place. In the meantime, they were to get Richie out of the country. I'm not sure whether the bike was sabotaged or whether the agent was just not skilled enough but, either way, there was an accident and the agent died in Richie's place. At the time, it seemed like the perfect solution. The drug cartel thought they were safe and Richie had a chance to fill the officials in on everything he had learned. I only found out about it months later when Richie came to see me back in Seacouver."

Joe struggled to keep a straight face. He knew that MacLeod could think on his feet, but this was pretty amazing.

"Do you know why Ryan would have been back in France?" the inspector asked.

"No idea. Maybe the drug cartel found out he was still alive after all. All I know is that I haven't seen Richie in over a year."

"And you don't have any idea which agency was using him?"

"No. They told me it would be better if I didn't know."

The inspector asked several more questions before he gave up. "Well, thank you for your time, Monsieur MacLeod." Duncan escorted the inspector to the door.

Joe bowed when MacLeod came back down the stairs. "I bow to thee," he said with a grin. "I am in the presence of one of the greatest B.S. artists of all time. That was incredible, Mac, absolutely incredible."

MacLeod just shrugged. "All right, Joe. Let's go see this person you claim is Richie."

* HL * HL *

When they reached Joe's house, they found Methos in the kitchen fixing breakfast.

"How's he doing?" Joe asked.

"Last I checked, he was sleeping. But he's all cleaned up now, so he's feeling much better. I loaned him one of your T-shirts and a pair of boxers - I hope you don't mind. Of course it took several safety pins to keep the shorts on - he's nothing but skin and bones. He's going to need a lot of recuperating. The best thing would be to find a monastery or some hospice on holy ground where he will be safe for a while."

"*If* he's really Richie, he can stay with me," Duncan said. "I'll take care of him."

"No offense, MacLeod, but he may not want to. He claims his last encounter with you was when you tried to take his head after the Dark Quickening - that you let an impostor into your life. I haven't told him that you killed the impostor - still thinking he was Richie - but when he finds out, I'm not sure he will feel safe with you."

Duncan nodded as he pondered Methos' words. He had finally come to peace with his part in the young man's death, only to have this happen. If that really was Richie in the other room, then he knew there would be many things to overcome - including guilt on his part and anger on the part of the young Immortal. In his own mind, he was still convinced that Richie was really dead and the impostor was the person in the other room. "First, I want to prove that he really *is* Richie. Which room is he in, Joe?" he asked.

"The guest bedroom," Joe replied.

"Don't wake him up," Methos warned. "He needs rest as much as he needs nourishment. I've seen this before."

"I'll be quiet," Duncan said as he headed towards the bedroom. He carefully opened the door and peered inside. Fortunately, Methos had left a light on next to the bed, so he could get a clear view of the person lying there. His heart skipped a beat as he took in the tousled curls and the face beneath them. His hand reached out to cup the face, but he drew it back at the last minute. The T-shirt that he was wearing fit him like a tent, and the arms sticking out of the sleeves were so thin that the Highlander was almost afraid to touch them, fearing that they would snap under the least pressure. Mentally, he compared the visage to the Richie he remembered, but he couldn't make up his mind. If it hadn't been for the other one, he would have sworn that this was Richie. Maybe he was too paranoid, but he just couldn't be sure. One part of him wanted to believe this was really Richie, that they could resume their friendship. The other part of him wanted to prove this wasn't Richie, that he could push him away to prevent any more pain.

Duncan returned to the kitchen where Methos was just beginning to dish out scrambled eggs and hash browns onto three plates. He accepted his, went to the table and sat down.

"So?" Joe asked impatiently.

"I don't know," Duncan replied. "How are we going to prove which one was - is - the real Richie?"

"How about when he wakes up, you ask him about things that only the two of you should know?" Joe suggested. "And we can list off things that seemed different about Richie. I've already mentioned a couple - his attitude, and the number of heads he had taken. I'm sure there's a lot more."

Duncan nodded. "His hair cut, too. He always spent so much time fussing over his hair. At the time, I just thought he wanted to look older. And he was leaner, more well defined. I just attributed that to more training."

"Did he fight any differently?" Methos asked.

"I honestly don't know," Duncan said as he tried to remember his encounters with Richie during that time period. "We never sparred after we made our peace. And I can't remember ever seeing him fight, either. He did have the rapier I gave him though."

"That could have easily been taken," Methos pointed out. "What about the fight with Culbraith? Didn't you watch that?"

"It really wasn't a fight. I threw the sword down, Richie grabbed it, impaled Culbraith, and it was over."

"Did Richie ever smoke cigarettes or cigars when he was younger?" Joe asked. "I found him smoking in the bar one night and he kind of seemed embarrassed about it."

"No. In fact, he was always hounding Tessa about her smoking - although she only did it when she was upset. I think she finally quit just to shut him up," Duncan said, smiling fondly at the memory. It no longer hurt quite so much when he thought of Tessa.

"On the other hand, that little fiasco with Marina was pure Richie, through and through."

"Yes, I'd have to agree with you there," Duncan said with a frown. "The same is true of Jennifer Hill. His libido almost got him killed there."

"I don't know, Mac. Somehow, that didn't seem like Richie. I just can't see him sleeping with a woman knowing that he killed her husband," Joe said, reflectively. "And for that matter, I was really surprised when he showed up in Paris when he knew better than that."

"Half the time, Richie didn't do what he was supposed to do, or rather, he did what he *wasn't* supposed to do."

"There was one incident that his Watcher reported that really seemed out of character," Joe said. "Apparently, Richie went to buy his bike back, but the guy refused to sell it to him without making a profit. He went berserk, flinging gasoline all over the shop. His Watcher was convinced that Richie would have burned the place to the ground."

"No, that doesn't sound like him at all," Duncan agreed.

"This really isn't getting us anywhere," Methos commented. "Why don't we ask him what happened? That might give us some more clues. And Joe's suggestion about something private between the two of you might be the best answer yet. He's been asleep for almost two hours. He really needs to be woken up and given something to eat. Small, frequent meals are the best medicine right now." He stood and went to the stove, putting a small amount of the remaining scrambled eggs onto another plate. He fetched a bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator and poured a glass before looking back at the other two. "Well? Are you coming?"

Duncan hung back as his two friends went into the bedroom. There was no way around it - this was going to be an awkward moment. He watched from the doorway as Methos set the plate, silverware, and glass down on the bedside table before lightly touching the young Immortal's shoulder. Richie woke with a gasp and a convulsive move.

"Take it easy, Richie," Methos soothed. "It's just us. I brought you some breakfast." He helped the man to a sitting position, placed pillows behind his back, and handed him the plate and silverware.

"Smells good," Richie said with a grin. "But couldn't you have given me just a little more? This won't even get me started."

Duncan forced back a gasp. When the young man had been asleep, he had been uncertain as to his identity. But that voice and that smile...

"If you can eat all that, I'll get you some more," Methos said. "I think you'll find that you will have a hard time cleaning up your plate. You've got to give your stomach some time to expand before you start eating regular servings. Now, shut up and eat, so that we can get down to business."

Richie must have finally realized that someone else was in the room and he turned his blue eyes towards the Highlander. For the longest time, they just stared at each other. The older of the two pulled himself together first. "Hello, Richie," he said.

"Mac," Richie replied with a nod before starting to eat.

Joe made a snorting sound as he took a seat on the only chair in the room, and Duncan realized how mundane that greeting had been. But what had the Watcher expected? Did he think that they would throw their arms around each other?

"Well, that was touching," Methos whispered as he edged by the Immortal. He returned a moment later with a kitchen chair, and placed it by the bed, on the other side from Joe.

Duncan debated getting his own chair, but decided to sit on the bed instead - he could lean up against the footrest. As he sat down, Richie pulled his feet up into a lotus position as if he didn't want them anywhere near the other Immortal. The Highlander almost cringed as his chest tightened at the movement, surprised that it had affected him so much.

"Richie, we'd like you to tell us what happened to you," Joe said. "Just start at the beginning."

"Well... I guess it started right after Mac tried to take my head, but you shot him before he could. You sent me away even though I wanted to help. I had just parked my bike at my place when I felt another Immortal. The next thing I know, I have a knife embedded in my chest and I'm struggling to breathe." Richie shuddered at the memory. "When I came back to life, I was in some kind of warehouse..."

* HL * HL Flashback

Richie woke up with a deep gasp, shuddering as the first breath entered his body. "God, I really hate this part," he muttered. He tried to move his arms to ease the tension in his chest, but found that he couldn't. Suddenly, his predicament crashed in around him. Naked from the waist up, manacles around his wrists and ankles held him spread-eagled against a cold cement wall. He struggled to free himself, but the fetters just cut into his skin more. He could feel the goosebumps rising as a cold draft wafted through the room. He could hear the sounds of water dripping from somewhere close by. The only illumination in the room was from a small window in a door in front of him.

"HEY!" he yelled. "What's going on? Is anyone there?"

A few moments later, Richie felt the touch of another Immortal. The hinges on the door squeaked as it slowly opened. In the dim light, he couldn't make out the features of the man standing there. With a flick of his wrist, the room filled with light, and Richie found himself staring into the scarred visage of his captor. "Let me go, damn it," he said, pulling at the shackles again. "If you want my head, do it honorably! Give me back my sword and we'll fight."

The man laughed. "Now I'm certain that you're the Highlander's student. Honorably." He laughed again. "I don't want your head, child - at least not now. I want information." He slowly approached Richie, tossing a knife around in the air. With a sudden movement, he buried it hilt-deep in the trapped Immortal's stomach.

Richie cried out at the sudden attack. He felt more than saw the other man slowly twist the knife back and forth as agonizing pain flooded through him. Refusing to give in to the screams that wanted to burst forth, he clenched his teeth tightly together. The agony grew until it seemed to consume him. Still he refused to scream, which seemed to agitate his captor.

"So, you're a lot stronger than I gave you credit for, boy," he said as he pulled his knife out. "But you will talk - have no doubts about that. I've had thousands of years to perfect my techniques. This could be quite entertaining."

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?" Richie forced out as the pain eased off.

"My name is Kronos and there are two things I want. I want the Highlander's head, but I've heard how good he is. With a little inside information from you, I will be able to defeat him without risking my life. But above all, I want to find Methos. Rumor has it that MacLeod has met him and might know where he is."

"Never heard of him."

"And even if you did, I doubt you would tell me so quickly. But you *will* tell me everything you know before I'm done with you."

"Go to hell!" Richie spat back.

"No, I think it's you that will be going to my version of hell." Kronos laughed.

* HL * HL *

The young Immortal had no way of measuring time in his prison. There was only pain and the constant hounding for information. Richie eventually gave in to his screams, letting them echo through the room, but he refused to give up the Highlander. He had no idea whether Mac was still alive or, for that matter, whether he was worth protecting - not after taking that Dark Quickening. Either way, he wouldn't tell Kronos anything.

Then came the day that Kronos walked into the room, but brought something other than a knife with him. "Today, you will talk, boy. Given enough time, I know I could break you, and I still might just for the thrill of it, but I'm tired of wasting my time." The Immortal pulled a syringe out of his pocket and plunged it into Richie's neck. He quickly pumped its contents into the young Immortal's blood stream.

Richie screamed as a burning sensation started from his neck and ran down through his body. It quickly subsided, leaving only a tingling sensation behind. He could feel himself becoming drowsy and it was difficult to keep his eyes open.

"Tell me how you met MacLeod," Kronos ordered.

"I broke into his antique store," Richie mumbled, even as he struggled to keep quiet. To his horror, he found himself answering all of Kronos' questions. The shame of betraying his friend was worse than the pain from the torture had been. Tears rolled down his face as he gave details of his life with the Highlander.

* HL * HL * End of flashback

"I told him *everything*," Richie said, still filled with self-disgust at his betrayal. "I couldn't seem to stop talking, no matter what I did. I *should* have been able to shut up."

"It's not your fault, Richie," Methos said. "Kronos was over three thousand years old. He knew ancient secrets about herbs and potions that he had learned over the centuries. I've seen his truth drug at work before. The very fact that he had to resort to it says that he didn't think he *could* break you. You should be proud of that fact."

"What do you think?" Richie challenged Mac.

Duncan remained silent for a moment, studying the young Immortal in front of him. "I think you did your best. That's all anyone can ask of another. It's all you should ask of yourself. After I had almost taken your head, I wouldn't have blamed you if you told Kronos everything right away."

"That wasn't you, Mac. You couldn't help it - it was the Dark Quickening. I had a lot of time to come to grips with it while I was being held prisoner. I'm just glad you got over it."

"So am I, Richie. It took me a long time to get over the guilt I felt about it. Especially when I couldn't get hold of you. If I had only known what you were going through..." Duncan shook his head.

"So, where did this impostor come into play?" Methos asked in the awkward silence that followed MacLeod's statement.

"Kronos wasn't the only one who visited me. There was usually another guy with him, but his face was wrapped in bandages. Sometime after my session with the truth serum, they came back together - and this time he didn't have bandages on..."

* HL * HL * Flashback

Richie couldn't take his eyes off the other man's face. It was like looking in a mirror. Except for the hair, which was longer, slightly darker, and straight, the resemblance was uncanny. The only thing marring the image was the visible incisions running along the hairline.

"Richie Ryan, meet Richie Ryan," Kronos said with an evil chuckle. "Of course, his name used to be Mike, but I think Richie suits him much better - don't you?"

"You won't get away with this," Richie exclaimed. "Mac will know the difference."

"With the information you've given me, I think he can."

"But he's not one of us. How are you going to get around that."

"He's not one of us... yet," Kronos explained. "You probably don't realize it, but he will be one of us. Starting right now." He pulled his knife from his pocket and plunged it into the impostor's chest. The young man collapsed to the floor. "Technically, he's a few years older than you, but the extra muscle and leaner build can be explained away by training. And, hopefully, the plastic surgery incisions will heal without a trace."

"Wait a minute. Mac said scars you have before your first death don't heal," Richie protested.

"True, but these aren't scars yet - they're still incisions and should heal. After all, I've seen people get cut up pretty bad in a knife fight before they die. Those cuts heal when they come back. It's the same principle." Kronos smiled. "I've already been training him with a sword, so his skill level should come close to yours. And with the aid of a transmitter I put in your phone, I've recorded conversations you've had - as well as those we've had here - so he can duplicate your voice. It was his skill as an impersonator that actually gave me the idea."

A gasp came from the floor and the impostor sat up. "Why didn't you tell me I was like you?" he asked Kronos.

"You didn't need to know that you were Immortal. Now, you do. Stand up so I can see whether my plan is going to work."

The young man rose to his feet, and Richie gasped when he saw the face this time. All the wounds were gone - not even a scar remained. He began to wonder if Kronos might just be able to pull this off.

Kronos studied the faces. "Yes, I think so. We'll definitely have to do something with the hair. Maybe a perm or else you'll have to keep it cut short to hide the fact that it doesn't curl. Yes, we still have more work to do before my plan can be put into action, but I'm sure it will work. I just need to figure out how to handle the fact that MacLeod tried to take his student's head. I hadn't planned on that. And then we'll give it a trial run with that gimp... what was his name? Oh, yes, Joe Dawson. If you can pass that test, we're set."

"You bastard," Richie snarled as he jerked at the chains holding him. "You'll never get away with this. "

With a quick motion, Kronos buried his knife in Richie's abdomen. "You won't be able to stop it," he said as he laughed cruelly.

* HL * HL * End of flashback

"It was the last thing I heard before I died. I really never expected to wake back up again."

"Why didn't he take your head, Richie?" Joe asked.

"I think he wanted me around in case they had any more questions. That happened a few times. One day, Kronos came down to see me and he was jubilant. Apparently Mike had gone to see you, Joe, and you never guessed it wasn't me."

The Watcher nodded. "I remember. You... I mean, he came to the bar to tell me he was leaving town. That he now understood the phrase 'there can be only one' and that he wasn't going to hang around anymore. I remember thinking that it didn't seem like something you would say, but your teacher and best friend had tried to take your head and I figured that could change anyone."

Richie leaned back against the pillows, almost too exhausted to go on. Methos must have noticed.

"I think it's time for Richie to rest again," he said, making shooing motions with his hand towards MacLeod and Joe. "But first, how about some more orange juice and maybe some toast?"

"Sounds good," Richie said as he smiled gratefully at the other Immortal. "Thanks, Methos."

Duncan had a hard time fighting jealousy as he watched Methos and Richie interact. It should have been him who noticed that the young man needed a break. Instead, he had been too busy fighting off images of Richie being in chains, tortured, drugged, and killed repeatedly.

When Methos had rejoined the other two in the kitchen, he immediately turned to the Highlander. "So, what do you think?"

Duncan didn't even pretend to misunderstand. He knew exactly what the older Immortal wanted to know. "Well, he sounds like Richie and he pretty much looks like Richie, but then so did the other one. It's hard to say."

"A thought came to me as he was telling his story. When he first woke up, he wanted to know if I was really Methos. How could he have known that? Only you and the other Richie knew that - well, except for the rest of the Horseman."

"And Cassandra," Duncan reminded him. "This could all be a plot to get someone close to me... or maybe even you. He convinces us that he's the real Richie and then, when we least suspect it, we lose our heads."

"One thing is certain - he was definitely starved to death over a long period of time based on his body weight. That seems like a pretty extreme thing for someone to do, just to get an impersonator close to us," Methos said with a frown.

"So, where has he been all this time?" Duncan asked. "Joe, do you know where they found him?"

"I can find out," the Watcher said before heading for his office at the back of the house.

"In the meantime," Methos said as he inspected the refrigerator, "someone needs to go grocery shopping. I don't think Joe was expecting three guests - especially one who needs to recover from starvation. Richie needs something that's easy to digest and yet is packed with calories as well as nutritious food."

"I'll do that," Duncan replied, glad to have something to do that would make him feel helpful. "I'll be back in a little while."

"Fine. And buy some beer, too. Joe's almost out," Methos said as he pulled a bottle from the refrigerator.

Duncan gave him a sardonic look before heading to his car.

Methos wandered around Joe's house, drinking his beer. He briefly listened in to the Watcher's telephone conversation before moving on. A thudding noise from the guest bedroom sent him hurrying there. He found Richie halfway between the bed and the bathroom door, lying on the floor. "What happened?"

"I had to go to the bathroom," Richie explained, his voice quavering with unshed tears. "I thought I could make it on my own. I mean, I made it further than this when I got out of the warehouse and when I escaped from the morgue. Why can't I walk across a room without collapsing?"

"Here, let me help you," Methos said as he assisted the young Immortal to his feet. "Both of those times, you had adrenaline pumping through you. It's called survival instinct. You *had* to get away, so you did."

"Well, I *had* to go to the bathroom."

Methos laughed. "Not quite the same thing, kid. There's no danger here."

"That's what you think, man. I'd hate to face Joe if I had an *accident* in his guest bedroom." By this time, they had reached the bathroom. "I can manage from here," Richie insisted.

"Fine. When you're finished I'll help you back to bed." Methos shut the bathroom door as he left, going over and straightening out the bedcovers. He fetched another glass of orange juice from the kitchen before assisting Richie back to bed.

"Don't tell Mac that I needed help," Richie said with a shamed look on his face.

"Needing help is nothing to be ashamed of. You're going to need a lot of it over the next few months as you recover. In a few days, you should be able to get around on your own, although you will tire easily. You'll also need to have someone around to protect you in case another Immortal comes along. You'd be easy pickings right now."

"Maybe that would be for the best," Richie said glumly. "I don't think Mac believes I'm really me."

"Give him some time. This is really hard for him, too."

"Do *you* believe me?"

Methos stared straight into the young man's eyes. "I don't know. I didn't get to be 5000 years old by believing everything I hear. And other than the time when you got tangled up with Kristin, I didn't have much contact with you."

"Well, at least you're honest. Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask. I won't promise to tell."

"How did Mac get over the Dark Quickening? Not even Coltec could beat it and he supposedly had mystical powers."

"I took him to a holy spring that few people still alive know about. From what little he told me, he had to battle himself. Good triumphed over evil."

"I'm glad you were able to help him. Thank you."

"I was glad, too. Now, try to get some more rest," Methos ordered.

* HL * HL

After Duncan, Joe and Methos had eaten lunch, they returned to the guest bedroom to hear more of Richie's story. This time, it was the Highlander who carried a bowl of soup to the young man.

"Here you go, Richie," he said as he handed the bowl over. "Vegetable soup. I made it just how you like it."

"I hope so. You know how much I hate carrots." He stirred through the soup suspiciously.

"No, I left the carrots out," Duncan said, grinning broadly. He exchanged glances with the other two men and briefly nodded. Richie had passed a test - whether he realized it or not. "So, do you know what Kronos' plan was? Was this Mike person supposed to take my head? Or was he supposed to get me trapped without my katana?"

"Something like that. There was another Immortal involved, but I didn't meet him for a while. Once Mike had passed himself off as me, Kronos finally took me out of the manacles, but he still kept me locked up. He liked to come down and talk to me - tell me what was happening to you. Like when you went to Moscow to be in the circus with Amanda. Really, Mac, when are you going to learn to say no to her?"

"I say no all the time - she just doesn't listen," Duncan defended himself.

Richie snorted. "Right. Anyway, one day he brings this guy down and says his name is Cranson, but I can call him Methos. Apparently, this guy would go from town to town convincing other Immortals to put down their swords - live in peace."

"Yes, we met him," Duncan said with a frown. "So, he was working for Kronos?"

"Yeah. He would follow Cranson around and kill the Immortals after they stopped fighting. The plan was to convince you to stop fighting and then Kronos would take your head. While he was gloating over his plan, Mike came running in to say he'd found Methos. He was really surprised to find him standing there next to Kronos. Apparently, Cranson had met Mike earlier that night as a test, to prove that Mike would come back and tell Kronos when he found Methos. Mike was supposed to help convince you by giving up his own sword."

"But he almost lost his head," Duncan said. "Was that part of the plan?"

"No, and Mike was furious when he came back. Told Kronos that he should have known that Cranson was dead and told him. Of course, by that time, Kronos knew where to find the real Methos, so he changed his plans. He told Mike to tell you that he was going to do a little traveling. Next thing I know, I've got a knife in the chest again. I woke up in a different place, where I've been ever since. Mike was there, too - still following Kronos' orders. He said I might be needed as a hostage."

"What happened when Kronos lost his head?" Duncan asked.

"Mike was really shook up about that. It took him a while to figure out what to do. He finally decided that my life was better than his old one and hanging around you was the best part of the deal. He was just as sadistic as Kronos was. He left me there, locked up in this tiny room with no windows and only one door. It must have been a janitor's closet or something because it did have a sink in it. Every so often, Mike would come back and bring me food. He liked to gloat about how you were the best of friends and how much I was missing out on. And then... and then... he stopped coming." Richie started shaking and tears poured down his face.

"I'm so sorry, Richie. I'm so sorry." Duncan moved up to sit next to the young Immortal. He carefully took Richie into his arms and rocked him gently. "If only I had known. I'm so sorry." He kept repeating the phrase over and over while Richie sobbed out his terrors. He listened to the younger Immortal ramble on about dying over and over, of the rats that infested the place, of the flood that came, drowning him. He talked about having hallucinations - seeing Tessa and Mac, as well as others from his past. In a quieter voice, he talked about how each time he came back to life, he would struggle with the door, until the day when the rotten wood gave way, freeing him from his prison. He had crawled out of his hellhole on his hands and knees - only gaining his feet as he exited the warehouse, dying at least once on his way to freedom. The words flowing from Richie's mouth sent shafts of pain through Duncan.

Finally, the young man fell quiet, succumbing to an exhausted slumber. Carefully laying Richie back down on the pillows, he looked around, realizing that somewhere along the line, Methos and Joe had left the room.

Duncan stared down at the too thin face, reaching out to lightly brush back the curls that framed it. Deep inside him, he accepted that this was really Richie. As he had listened to his tale of horror, he had strongly wished that Kronos was still alive so that he could know the same kind of torture.

The Highlander went out to the living room where Methos and Joe were sitting. "He's asleep," he said. "Did you find out where the police found his body, Joe?"

The Watcher nodded. "It was near an abandoned warehouse along the waterfront. Here's the address." Joe pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over.

"I'll be back later."

"I think I should come with you," Methos said, rising to his feet. He held up his hand to forestall Duncan's protests. "Richie will be fine here with Joe. We won't be gone that long."

Twenty minutes later, Duncan retrieved two flashlights from the trunk of his car, handing one to Methos. He led the way into the abandoned warehouse. Shining the light around, he noticed the dried mud that caked the floor, evidence that the building must have been flooded at some point. Noticing tracks in the dirt, he started following them through the building, and down a flight of stairs.

Partway down the hallway, the tracks went into a small room. The door hung crookedly on its hinges, the lock still intact, but the wood surrounding it had rotted away. Inside the room, they found a small sink, just as Richie had described. Empty tin cans lay scattered around, their labels unreadable now. Duncan gagged as a foul stench assaulted his senses. Piles of human waste littered the floor, explaining some of the smells. He turned and fled the room. Reaching the outside, the Immortal took in deep breaths of fresh air. He heard Methos doing the same beside him.

"How could he have survived that and still remain sane? If his story is true, he was in there for 18 months - 12 of which were spent without seeing anyone else. How could he *not* be blaming me?"

Methos laid a calming hand on his arm. "I think Richie is a lot stronger than either of us have given him credit for. After seeing that room, I have no doubts that he was in there for that long - do you?"

Duncan shook his head.

"Do you still have doubts that he *is* Richie?"

Duncan shook his head again. "I should have known that the other one wasn't Richie. How could I possibly have let an impostor into my life? The best thing Richie could do would be to get as far away from me as possible. I've done nothing but cause trouble for him." The guilt washing through him seemed impossible to overcome.

"You got him off the streets and showed him that he could be better than he was. You trained him well and taught him what he needed to know to survive. You helped to lay the groundwork that kept him sane while he was locked up in there. But most importantly, you've been his friend," Methos said heatedly. "And that is the most important thing of all. He's going to need his friends to help him through this. He needs someone to soothe him when he wakes, screaming from nightmares. To protect him from other Immortals until he can protect himself. To be patient when he's tired and angry with the world. He needs someone to keep pushing him to exercise - even when he doesn't want to - and yet know when he's done too much. That's you, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Who else will know him better?"

"And if he doesn't want me for that role - what then? Will you step in and help him?"

"Me? You must be joking. Do I look like a nursemaid? I haven't had a young one looking to me for centuries - and I didn't do too good of a job then. But I don't think you have to worry. One of the first questions he asked us was about you."

"And if I try to take his head again?"

"Listen, MacLeod, the last thing he will need or want is your guilt trips. Be strong for him, Highlander, and he will be strong for you."

Duncan nodded. He could do this. He *had* to do this. Richie needed him and, this time, he wouldn't fail. "Let's go back to Joe's."

* HL * HL *

They found Richie and Joe playing checkers when they reached the house. Good-natured squabbling drifted from the room as they argued over whose rules to play by. The Highlander gestured for Methos to stay in the living room, while he went into the bedroom.

"So who's winning?" he asked.

"I am," they both replied in unison.

Duncan laughed. "I think you should call it a draw before blood is spilt. Joe, would you mind if I speak to Richie alone?"

"Sure, Mac." Joe got to his feet and left the room. Duncan shut the door behind him.

Richie looked nervously around the room. "Um... Mac... before we start, can I... I mean will you... Damn it!" He paused for a moment before going on. "I need to go to the bathroom, but I need some help," he finished defiantly.

"Of course, Richie. All you have to do is ask." He helped the younger man to his feet, and supported him with one arm around his waist. His stomach churned as he felt just how thin that waist was. After he had finished, Duncan helped him back to the bed. He debated where to sit, finally opting to take the same place he had earlier this morning. "Richie, we really need to talk and I want you to be up-front and honest with me. Don't worry about hurting my feelings. This is really important - for both of us. Do you understand?"

"I guess..."

"Okay. First off, how do you feel about me?"

"I don't understand, Mac." Richie gave him a puzzled look.

"The last time you saw me, I tried to take your head. How did that make you feel? Do you still trust me?"

"Of course I do. Look, Mac, at first I was really hurt by what you had done and angry, too. But like I said earlier, it wasn't you. I don't see anything of whatever that was still in you. I'd trust you with my life - I have before and I will again."

Duncan sighed. "What if I tell you that I took the other Richie's head? And, yes, I still thought it was you."

Shocked blue eyes stared at him, burning holes into his soul. Duncan waited for Richie to think about what he had just heard, almost positive that the younger man would tell him to leave.

Richie finally spoke. "Then you must have had a good reason, Mac. Or else someone was playing with your mind again. I still trust you."

Duncan looked at those eyes, now filled with trust and friendship, and felt like he had just received the finest gift possible. "Thank you, Richie," he forced out past the lump in his throat as he felt tears run down his cheeks.

This time it was Richie who closed the gap between the two of them, taking the older man in his arms and rocking gently. "It's all right, Mac," he crooned softly, over and over. Finally, he added, "Tell me about it."

With stumbling words, Duncan told Richie about his run-in with Ahriman. How he'd seen the dead come back to life and how he had somehow cut off the head of the man he'd thought of as Richie. He told him about Ahriman's offer to bring Richie or Tessa back, and how difficult it had been to pass up that opportunity.

"Whoa. Demons with glowing red eyes and zombies and red fog and swords. Hey, I bet that would make a great movie. Maybe we should try to sell it to Hollywood. We could make a fortune."

Duncan laughed. "Now I know for certain that you are the real Richie. No one else would have thought of that. I can't believe that I let someone else take your place."

Richie looked away. "I think that was the thing that hurt the most - knowing that someone replaced me and nobody knew any different. I could understand Joe, but not you. It made me feel like my life was insignificant."

Duncan felt tears fill his eyes again, but he refused to give in to them. He had caused so much pain for the younger Immortal. "I'm sorry, Richie. He was different, but I thought it was just anger at being attacked by me. I should have known better. You didn't react that way when I came after you before - when Garrick was influencing my mind. Sure, you were mad, but you got over it quickly. I guess I felt so guilty over what I did that I expected you to be angry and, therefore, I just accepted his attitude. Can you ever forgive me for that?" The Highlander almost held his breath, waiting for the reply.

Richie moved so that he could look directly at the older Immortal. "Yes, Mac, I can and I have. There's nothing like sitting around with no lights and no tv to give you time to think. I made a lot of promises to myself about what I would do if I ever got out of there. One of them was to not blame you for what happened. Even if you hadn't taken the Dark Quickening, Kronos would have still kidnapped me. Maybe you would have realized then that Mike was a fake, but we'll never know. I just know that I *have* to put this behind me, because I need and want your friendship."

"Thank you, Richie. I need and want your friendship, too. And I want to help you get past this, too. So, are you willing to trust me, let me care for you and protect you while you recuperate? It won't be easy - on either of us. There will be times that you will hate me, and there will be times that I will be so mad at you I'll want to strangle you. We just have to be sure that we remember our friendship and know that we can get past the rough times. So, what do you say?"

Richie thought about it for a moment. "Sure, Mac, on one condition."

"What?" he asked suspiciously.

"No more trying to chop off my head. Geez, you've had three tries at it and you still haven't managed to do it. How did you ever survive to be 400 if you can't take out one lousy little teenager? I mean, really, Mac..."

Duncan pulled him into a hug that shut off the torrent of words. "Welcome back, Richie."

The end.


End file.
